Counting
by rach1803
Summary: The lab scene and after. Sherlock realises the effect he's had on Molly. Could he be feeling guilt? Molly realises she counts after all. Please R&R :)
1. Chapter 1

Hey so this is just an idea I had, seriously loved the little Sherlock/Molly scenes! soo cute! hehe.

Not sure how this worked out, its the first Sherlock FF I've done.

Hope you enjoy it :-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock**

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><p>He could feel her watching him, lingering. She always did it when he came to the morgue; it was probably that infatuation she had with him. Hanging onto his every word, watching his every move, she thought he didn't notice; but he did. He wished she'd just spit it out either that or go away and leave him to work. He heard her take a breath, here goes.<p>

"You're a bit like my dad." She had turned to face him, but he didn't look up, he had no idea where she was going with this. She paused. "He's dead… no sorry... "He sighed inwardly; he didn't understand why she was telling him this. But the sample under the microscope was getting harder to concentrate and he really didn't need another awkward conversation.

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation, it's really not your area." Cold. That's how he sounded, it was harsher than he intends, but that was him. Heartless and to the point. He expected her to stammer an apology and scuttle away, waiting for it he realised. But it didn't come, instead she carried on.

"When he was dying he was always cheerful, he was lovely…Except when he thought no one could see." She paused; he could feel her eyes burning into him. The sample now a million miles away she had his attention. She had surprised him, he couldn't see where she was going with this or why she was telling him; but she had his attention.

"I saw him once." She breathed in, trying to keep her voice steady. She was emotional, anyone could see that. He didn't like this, for all that she may irritate him with her loitering he would never want to see her sad. No, Sherlock, despite appearances, was not that cruel.

"He looked sad…"

"Molly..." he interrupted, monotone, no emotion.

"You look sad. When you think he can't see you." She indicated to the other room where john stood. Sherlock looked up. Molly Hooper was clever, he had always known that, but this was more; she hadn't just seen him; shed noticed. He looked up from the microscope and stared at her. Ice blue met brown.

"Are you okay?" she stammered slightly, "and don't just say you are... because I know what that means... looking sad when you think no one can see you." He took in her words pausing slightly before he replied. She didn't look away from him once, she wasn't intimidated or scared, she just kept looking at him, concern imbedded deep into her soft features.

"You can see me." It sounded like a taunt. She shook her head slightly.

"I don't count." She responded immediately, no doubt in what she was saying. A sad smile drifted across her face. She looked down.

It was these words that had the effect on him, those three words. They made him feel, he could see it in her eyes the sadness, the loneliness. He saw her view of herself. It was low, she thought she was nothing, she thought she didn't count. He looked at her as thought seeing her truly for the first time. He turned his head slightly to face her. Molly Hooper. She didn't know, didn't know how important she truly was, and part of that was his fault. More than part, if he was being truthful. She didn't see herself as valuable, yet she was so valuable to him. Maybe not in the way she wanted but never just in the way she thought. She had never been just a way to get lab clearance, although that did help him, she was his friend. And Sherlock Holmes didn't have friends. She listened to him and talked, just about normal things, normal things that happened to normal people. He sometimes thought those conversations kept him human, and for that he would always be grateful.

"What I'm trying to say is, if there's anything," She looked up. "Anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all... you can have me." She paused, closed her eyes for a second and turned to look at the wall, "No... I just mean," she paused embarrassed and uncomfortable, but determined to get her tell him, so he let her finish. She inhaled. "I mean, if there's anything you need." She paused again, struggling to speak, but she tried and he admired her for it, she turned to the wall. "It's fine."

He looked at the opposite wall, he couldn't think of what to say... what could he say? This was awkward, something Sherlock did not normally register, and this was new territory for him.

"W…what could I need from you?" he stammered, he turned to stare at her, she shrugged.

"Nothing...dunno." she spoke quietly she started to walk away, "I'm just..."

"Well maybe I..." he didn't know what to say. He didn't want her to go.

"I know you don't." she didn't give him chance, she turned and walked away. Taking control. Molly Hooper.

Sherlock Holmes was no good with emotions that was just proved. Again. He was….shocked; he knew little of Molly's personal life, never asked. He hadn't realised how much she saw either. He had always known there was something special about her, in some ways a bit like himself, they both cared for their friends, were fiercely protective if need be. But Sherlock never showed this, never allowed himself to appear vulnerable, he pushed people away with his words and his tone, and only know looking at Molly could her truly see what he had done. To her.

Molly was different to him, she didn't mind being vulnerable, she didn't mind caring. She was sweet and loyal. She was clever, not as much as Sherlock but still, very clever; yet she didn't show off. She was humble. It was her humbleness that made him feel worse, she viewed herself so lowly.

The computer bleeped behind him, his results were ready. Sherlock shook his head and turned to face the door she left out off. He would speak to her later.

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><p>there we go, hope you enjoyed it.<p>

Reviews are appreciated and maybe if people like it I might do the later scene in the lab.

Rach x


	2. Chapter 2

**hey, just want to say thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it means a lot and your all so nice! :-)**

**so here is the second lab scene from Sherlock's point of view, I will probably do it from Molly's POV aswell because I dont think she plays a big enough part in the series'.**

**Hope you like it :-)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

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><p>He shifted slightly, the pale blue light of the lab flittered onto his face as he faced the wall. He could hear her in the room next door. She would be finished soon. He would wait.<p>

Sherlock's mind cast over what had just happened, Moriarty pressing himself against the stairs 'cowering' away from him. If it wasn't so serious Sherlock would have laughed. But it was serious. More than that, it was believable; a good plan, even Sherlock gave him that.

John's voice rang into his mind.

"_You are Moriarty."_

He'd been almost hysterical, Sherlock however had been planning. He closed his eyes. It had to be this way. It just had to be.

Yet, through all of this, all the lies and the running and the murder, her face had been in his head. Her words. Molly Hooper. The girl…woman he valued so much, yet she didn't even know it. She thought she was worthless, nothing, a no body. Well, he was here to put that right. He needed her.

A smash of glass brought him back to the present, he almost smiled, typical Molly. She was daydreaming, her mind elsewhere so she wasn't concentrating. He heard her sigh as she cleaned it up. Heard the rustle as she put on her coat, the sound of her shoes as she drew nearer. He heard her sigh as she walked by him, his back to her; she hadn't noticed him. It had to be now.

"You're wrong you know." His voice deep in the silence of the lab, he stared ahead. She gasped her hand flew from the door. Any other situation he would have smiled at that, any but this one. He paused.

"You do count." He could hear the emotion in his words, he hated himself for it. For once it was real, no lies, no false flattery to get what he wanted. He wanted molly to see, and to do that he needed to be honest.

"You've always counted, and I've always trusted you." His words flowed from his mouth, his voice threatening to break, but he stopped himself. He couldn't... _wouldn't_ break, not ever. He needed to say it. Another pause.

"You were right." He turned to face her, emitting the words she never thought he would. Not to her. "I'm not okay."

He looked at her Molly Hooper. The pathologist. She was watching him her eyes full of nothing but kindness and concern, he felt a pang of something in his stomach when he thought of how he had treated her, how she viewed herself because of him. The feeling made him feel nauseas, made his legs buckle under the weight of his stomach. He thought back to the Christmas present, Moriarty, the lipstick… even the coffee. He could have done so many things differently, done them better. Been more normal, more human. But that was him Sherlock Holmes, the uncaring, unfeeling sociopath.

The man with the heart of ice.

He thought of all those times, but she still looked at him with such concern in her eyes, she was still worried about him. It was then he realised what the feeling was…. _guilt_.

"Tell me what's wrong." She sounded nervous, but determined. She wanted to help him, she wanted to know and he was glad. He needed her help. He walked towards her half in shadow; she needed to know what she was getting herself into. He would never lead her blindly into something like this. That wasn't fair. None of this was fair.

"Molly," he paused, still moving closer, "I think I'm going to die." Shock passed through her face, but only for a moment. The concern returned.

"What do you need?" Her response was immediate, willing to help, wanting to help. But she still didn't understand yet.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am." He stopped still moving closer. The look of concern never left her. His eyebrows creased slightly, he didn't want to ask, but he had to. She deserved a choice.

"Would you still want to help me?" he looked at her. Her eyes filled with tears, her face pale, but that look of concern and worry still never left her. Even though he had mocked her feelings for him, even though he had embarrassed her, even though he had put her down and made her feel degraded. Even though he could never love her like she wanted him too.

She really was too good for him.

"What do you need?" Her voice no more than a whisper, emotion shook her words but they still kept their meaning. She looked into his eyes.

He walked towards her again, slowly. He didn't deserve her help, didn't deserve her. Molly Hooper. Her eyes were large as she stared at him desperately. He couldn't believe, couldn't understand, why after everything she would want to help him. He didn't know the reason, but he was thankful for it. Thankful for her.

The silence had been there for what felt like an eternity, though it had only been seconds. He stared at her as he prepared to break it. He stopped walking, inches from her. He spoke his voice low, with raw emotion, desperation, sadness and…hope.

He stared into those brown eyes.

"You."

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><p><strong>There you go. hope you liked it.<strong>

**Reviews are appreciated.**

**Rach. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so I decided to do this early because I got such really nice reviews on this story.**

**thank you sooo much they were lovely and meant a lot to know that you guys liked what I wrote.**

**so here is the final chapter to this story. I'm doing another Sherlock FF called _Like Father, Like Daughter?_ so the first chapters up for that one.**

**Again thanks for the response, and hope that this is okay! :-)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock**

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><p>It had been a long day for Molly Hooper. She couldn't believe her conversation with Sherlock. She had told him about her dad. <em>Her dad. <em>Her closest kept secret, his unhappiness, and she had told Sherlock Holmes. But the thing that surprised her most was him. He hadn't laughed, mocked or degraded her, hadn't made her feel like she was wasting his time, like she didn't matter. In fact he had been nice and not just by Sherlock's standards, but by normal peoples.

His reaction had affected her so much that three autopsies, one emotional phone call from her sister and a near accident with some test tubes later, it was still all she could think about. She was analysing his response, his words, his face even his posture during the conversation, looking for something that would show him to be uncomfortable with her behaviour. But she couldn't find one.

Molly was still thinking about him when she heard the smash. She turned to see the remains of two beakers on the floor; it took her a moment to register what had happened. Then she realised she had smashed them when she turned away. She sighed, guess she would apologize to Sherlock the next time she saw him. If he would let her.

She got out the dustpan, well used since she had been at Bart's, and she cleaned the glass up. When she was done she pulled on her coat and headed towards the door. She really just wanted to crawl into her bed, wanted the day to end.

"You're wrong you know." A deep voice cut across the silence of the lab, Molly gasped as her hand flew from the door. She hadn't realised she wasn't alone. It took her less than a second to realise who it was. Him.

"You do count." He was facing away from her, staring at the wall, she couldn't see his face. But she could hear. Hear the emotion in his voice. The pain. That shocked her, scared her even. This was Sherlock Holmes, he didn't do pain and he certainly didn't do emotion. This was serious.

"You've always counted, and I've always trusted you." He was speaking quickly the emotion was building. He was sad. It broke molly's heart to hear him like this. So upset, so lonely. But he wasn't alone; she would make sure of it. Even if he could never love her.

He paused. She took in his words. He trusted her. She counted. Normally she wouldn't have believed him, his way of getting a body part, she would have said. But no his voice made her believe. She was important. She was important to him.

"You were right." He turned to face her. She never thought he would say these words to her, but she couldn't enjoy them because of the pain, the hurt, the sadness in his eyes. His pale face paler in the blue light, his eyes empty, like a man starving. Like a man lost.

"I'm not okay."

He finally admitted it, molly wanted to be glad but those eyes. She had always loved his eyes. Bright when he was excited and alive, rushing around the lab, mixing chemicals, hitting bodies with a whip. Yes, that was when his eye shone. That was when he was Sherlock.

But now, he looked like a man with a death sentence, a lost man, no a lonely man. Almost like a child.

He was watching her, walking towards her, it made her feel uneasy there was something he wasn't telling her, something important, something she needed to know and he needed to share. She was determined to make him.

"Tell me what's wrong." She cursed herself, she sounded nervous. Why did he always do that to her? Reduce her to nothing when she tried to talk to him. Even like this she felt her throat close, like she was choking the words out. Maybe that's why he treated her the way he did, she was weak.

But Molly Hooper didn't care, she had never cared. She only wanted to help him, the way she did everyone. Because that's the type of person she was. A kind one.

"Molly," he paused, still moving closer, "I think I'm going to die."

Molly felt her heart stop, her brain freeze. She felt her face twist into shock, but she pushed it away. No_**. NO.**_ She would not let him die. Never. Her heart ached at the thought of it. No, she mentally shook the thought way, he wouldn't, couldn't. Molly wouldn't let him. Wouldn't lose him.

"What do you need?" she sounded less afraid than she was, and for that she was grateful. A part of her was screaming, her throat closing up. She fought to keep her breathing steady. Sherlock Holmes couldn't die.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am." He was still moving closer, he had paused in speaking. Molly forced her brain to work, to listen, to take in his words. She would help him, even if he didn't want her too, she would and for that she needed to concentrate. He looked into her eyes, his eyebrows creased slightly.

"Would you still want to help me?" she couldn't believe he would ask. They both knew how she felt about him, and they both knew he could never feel the same about her. Her eyes filled with tears. Not because he would never love her, not in that way, but because he really did trust her. When it came down to it, he trusted her, told her what was wrong. She really did count. Molly looked him in the eye.

"What do you need?" she whispered, she cursed herself for it. She wasn't bold or confident and sometimes she hated that. But then, she realised looking at him stood before her, it didn't matter. Her words had the same meaning. He was walking towards her again.

The lab was silent. Time seemed to stop. He stopped walking inches from her, and although she couldn't help it molly felt her heart beating furiously in her chest, she kept her breath steady. Tried not to cry. She couldn't cry or scream. She had to be strong. She had to help.

And then he spoke those words, the ones she never thought he would. His voice low and filled with such sadness, such desperation, it made Molly's heart break. Then there was something else, something that gave Molly courage. Then there was hope.

He stared at her with those icy blue eyes.

"You."

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><p><strong>Again hope it was okay!<strong>

**Reviews are welcome :-)**

**Rach**


	4. Chapter 4

**So I lied. I said last chapter was going to be the last and it was, but then I decided that I wanted to do the fall through another characters point of view, someone who wasn't**

** necessarily there but still played a huge part. So here we go.**

**Hope its still okay and thank you for the lovely response yet again :-).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. **

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><p>Molly was sat on the floor, knees tucked into her chest. The morgue was quiet now. Silent. Deadly silent. She was waiting.<p>

Molly could feel her body shake as she sat there and she knew it wasn't the cold. She was sat as far away from the window as possible, her back to it, she didn't want to see. She couldn't see. It would break her. She knew what was going to happen.

Her mind cast back to the previous night, Sherlock had told her she mattered, and then he explained. Then he told her the truth. The horrible truth and what he had to do. What she had to help him do. Molly thought about Jim, sweet Jim from I.T. It made her feel sick, just like it had when she had found out who he really was. Her Jim, sweet innocent Jim was a lie. A lie made up by a psychopath. Now he was lying again, and Sherlock was going to suffer. Molly shuddered, she hated him. Moriarty and Molly Hooper didn't hate.

She thought back to Sherlock. He would be on the roof by now. She felt her head spin at what he was going to do. Why had she let him? Why had she agreed? This was such a bad idea. It might not work. What if it didn't work?

Molly shuddered, she knew what would happen.

Why was she doing this? What was it about Sherlock that would make her throw her away her life's work? Because that's what she would be doing if she got caught. She remembered what Sherlock said about his brother, he would fix everything. Molly hadn't liked the sound of that. Why was she doing this? Was she mad? Then she heard the voice in her head.

Because he's Sherlock Holmes.

It almost made her smile.

Then she heard it.

What felt like a million miles away, a distant thud. A crunch of bones. Screams filled the air. He had done it.

Molly felt tears fall down her face. She couldn't control them. She didn't know why they were there. She felt the sobs build in her throat, threatening to take over. What if it didn't work? What if she killed Sherlock Holmes?

Molly shook her head, no. she would do it, and she would succeed. Her trusted her and believed in her. She would do it. Her, Molly Hooper. She would bring him back.

Molly could still hear the screams. She shook her head, shook them out. Molly got up off the floor. She wiped her eyes furiously, she would cry no more. She needed to think, to get ready, and to prepare.

She had no time for tears, no time for emotions. She needed to do this right, perfectly, no mistakes. There was no time for tears.

Not while he needed her.

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><p><strong>Yep so think that will deffinately be it for this story, if you like this you can check out my other Sherlock story "Like Father, Like Daughter?".<strong>

**All reviews are appreciated I love to know what you guys think :-).**

**Have a great weekend!**

**Rach.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey,**

**So I know I said last chapter would be the last and it has been forever since I've uploaded on this story but I felt like it wasn't finished so I've uploaded this little chapter, which I hope will finish it. If you like this story I've uploaded a new chapter to my other Sherlock FF "Like Father Like Daughter" so if you've got time check it out :-).**

**Please review and hope it's okay!**

**Rach x**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock**

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><p>How many times had she imagined this? Waiting on a morning, watching him, waiting for him to wake up. Wake up and the first thing he'd see would be her.<p>

But this wasn't like one of Molly's dreams, she wasn't smiling down at him and they weren't at his place or hers. They were in the morgue and he was dead.

NO!

She needed to stop thinking like that, he wasn't really dead. He was just asleep, pretending to be dead, like the game that children play. Sleeping fishes. Except this wasn't a game. Molly felt sick, what if something was wrong. What if it hadn't work?

What if she'd killed him?

She hadn't pretended. Before, when they'd brought him in. she'd cried, for real. Just the sight of him, face paler than normal, almost blue, contrasted by the startling red on his temple. The blood. She'd shaken as she'd felt his cold skin, ice cold. They hadn't even asked her. If she was okay to work on the case, work on him. If she would be able to deal with it or would she rather they got someone else. Someone who didn't know Sherlock. Someone who didn't love him.

But of course they didn't ask. Even if they had she would have refused. Said she was fine, no one else could work on him, she wouldn't let them even if he was dead. She didn't want some stranger performing the autopsy, poking and prodding him. Molly shuddered at the image, no she wouldn't allow that. Not only because of the fact he wasn't dead, but because he meant too much to her for her to put him through that. She would always maintain his dignity. She would always protect him, the way he protected everyone else. Someone needed too. Even though she would have refused, it still hurt that they didn't ask, but then why would they? To the world Molly Hooper meant nothing to Sherlock Holmes, he didn't care for her, didn't notice her, and didn't want her. She didn't matter, didn't count. To the outside world anyway. Molly knew different.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

A painful reminder of how inferior they thought her.

But that didn't matter, all that mattered was him. Sherlock. She sat on the stool next to him as the sun set, orange light pouring over his perfect face. Even when he was dead he was still perfect to her. Well, sort of dead.

The orange was replaced with the silver of the moon and still she waited. She had been there for hours and would remain for hours more. She would be there when he woke up. To make sure he woke up. She wouldn't let him leave her. Hers would be the first face he saw.

Because even if it could never be what she wanted, it was still something.

And Molly Hooper had decided a long time ago that, with Sherlock Holmes, something was better than nothing.

He would always be worth it.


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